by Marta Perry
“He showed it to me. A computer-generated letter, with no way of tracing it, citing the minister.”
“Why him? And when did he get it?”
Jason shrugged. “I don’t know why anyone would send it to him. He said it arrived a couple of months before Frank’s death, so...”
“Wait. When?”
“He said he didn’t remember exactly, but about then. He assumed maybe Frank had received one, too, and...”
“But that’s impossible.” Her bewilderment sounded in her voice. “Adam Bennett only took up his position here a few weeks before Frank’s death. He didn’t even have all his furniture moved in before having to deal with the services.”
Jason seemed unable to do anything for a moment. Then his face hardened. “He did it himself.”
“What?” Her mind was already reeling.
“The letter. I had shown doubts about the whole idea of investigating you, so he decided to provide me with a little more evidence. That’s it. It has to be.” His jaw clenched. “And then he sent a letter to Adam’s wife, just to muddy the water a bit more.”
“I want to say I don’t believe it,” she said slowly. “But when I think of everything else he did, I suppose that’s a small deception. He seemed to feel anything he did was justified, as long as he got what he wanted.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand why no one started to wonder about him. I guess we were all so used to thinking of him as the respected judge, the pillar of the community, that we were blinded to everything else.”
“He hid it well, but I suspect there were those who weren’t sold on him. Billy knew the truth. Chief Carmichaels seemed to have some reservations. And Trey... Trey and I have done some talking. He’d begun to move very cautiously where the judge was concerned.”
“He manipulated all of us in one way or another.” Strange, but she was beginning to see him more clearly now, as if the blinders had been removed from her eyes. “But he wasn’t able to hurt Kevin.” She met Jason’s gaze, hoping he understood. “At least I can remember that.”
Jason gave a rueful grin. “You’re more generous than I am. I almost wish he’d lived to stand trial so he’d be humiliated the way he deserved.”
“No, you don’t,” she said gently. “You know how much that would have hurt the rest of us.”
“I guess.” He looked as if he wasn’t quite as ready to accept what had happened. “We’ve still got a lot of cleaning up to do. And a lot of talk to live down.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you’d heard all the concerned calls I’ve gotten today, or seen the steady parade of people stopping by with food and offers of help. This will be a nine days’ wonder, I know, but people are essentially good-hearted.”
“I’m beginning to think Echo Falls is unique, not just for its falls, but for its people.”
That was a good thought. She’d try to hold on to that. But in the meantime...
“Have you thought about what you’re going to do?” She’d thought she might have trouble asking the question, but it came out naturally.
“Actually, I had a long talk with Trey Alter today while we were trying to sort out what’s left after the explosion.” He leaned against the counter, looking more relaxed. “He suggests we team up, the two of us. Retain as many clients as we can save, and maybe add criminal defense to our bag. He thinks we could make a go of it.”
She studied his face, not sure how he felt. “Is that what you want?”
Jason didn’t answer directly. “I like Trey. He’s a good guy. Honest, easy to work with.” He met her eyes squarely. “I’d like it, but only if you want me to stay. You have every reason not to trust me, but I promise you that everything between us was real, no matter how it started. I want you and Kevin in my life. Forever.”
She didn’t doubt him, but still she hesitated. This wasn’t a step to take lightly. From here there would be no turning back.
“We’ll have to take our time, for Kevin’s sake.” She looked up at him, finding nothing but caring in his face.
“As much as you want.” He touched her face with his fingers. “We can start again from the beginning, if you want.”
For an instant she thought about Frank. What she’d had with him had been special. Knowing that he hadn’t been unfaithful had been freeing. They’d loved each other as best they could, but that was in the past. Jason... Jason was the future.
She smiled at him, sliding her arms around his neck, and he straightened, drawing her close. “I don’t think we need to go back that far. I don’t want to forget how you’ve been there for me. Let’s just move forward from where we are now.”
There was a steady flame of love in his eyes as he lowered his head for her kiss. The future was theirs, together.
* * * * *
If you enjoyed Jase and Deidre’s story, don’t miss the next book in the ECHO FALLS series
SOUND OF FEAR
Coming soon from Marta Perry and HQN Books!
Keep reading for an excerpt from WHERE SECRETS SLEEP by Marta Perry.
Marta Perry expertly blends elements of mystery and romance along with a riveting storyline, you won’t want to miss a single installment in her thrilling Echo Falls series!
If you loved Echo of Danger, don’t miss the next Echo Falls novel:
Sound of Fear
Order your copy today!
For more Echo Falls, look out for
Silence of Echoes
Marta Perry’s stunning Laurel Ridge series will have you on the edge of your seat!
In small-town Laurel Ridge, not everything is as simple as it appears...
Where Secrets Sleep
When Secrets Strike
How Secrets Die
Complete your collection!
“Abundant details turn this Amish romantic thriller series launch into a work of art.”
—Publishers Weekly, starred review, on Where Secrets Sleep
Catch up on your romantic suspense reads with Marta Perry’s electrifying Watcher in the Dark series!
Facing the past can be deadly...
Home by Dark
Search the Dark
Abandon the Dark
Available now!
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Where Secrets Sleep
by Marta Perry
CHAPTER ONE
ALLISON STANDISH WAS swept with an overpowering urge to throw the nearest heavy object or scream at the top of her lungs or, at the very least, slam the door. She did none of those things, clinging instead to the maxim she’d hammered out for herself years ago: if they see you lose control, they win.
She actually managed to pin a stiff smile on her face. “Sorry I interrupted.” She turned and walked steadily toward the door of Greg’s loft.
It was Diane, her boss, who rushed after her from the bedroom, wrapping a sheet around her abundant curves. “Allison, wait. This isn’t what it looks like.”
Allison’s temper nearly slipped its leash at the trite remark. “It’s exactly what it looks like. No wonder you were so eager to see me get on the road.”
“Now, Allison.” Diane reached for her with one hand while she grabbed the wandering sheet with the other.
&nbs
p; The sheet was one of those Allison had picked out to go with the bedroom furniture she’d helped Greg choose. She’d even gotten him her professional designer’s discount.
“Let’s be adult about this,” Diane continued. “There’s no reason why we can’t continue working together.”
“Listen to her, baby.” Greg appeared in the bedroom doorway, wearing a hastily donned T-shirt and shorts.
“Shut up.” Diane tossed the words back over her shoulder.
Greg ran a hand through the shoulder-length black hair that inevitably attracted female attention. If he’d said something to her then...
But he didn’t. He subsided, looking sulky. Diane had that effect on a lot of people.
“Come on, Ally.” Di’s voice turned coaxing. “These things happen. Take your week off. By the time you come back to the office, this will just be a memory. You have a good thing going. Don’t ruin it.”
For a man. Di didn’t say the words, but they were implied. Di wouldn’t dream of sacrificing one single step of her career for a man. That was how she’d become manager of the most prestigious interior design firm in Philadelphia.
Allison found she actually could manage a smile at that. “Sorry. I guess I’m not really that adult.” This time she did slam the door.
She’d gotten all the way to the car before reaction set in. It took her three tries to unlock the car door, and she slid behind the wheel, relieved that she didn’t have to trust her legs to hold her up any longer. She clutched the steering wheel, willing herself not to be sick.
A rusty meow from the backseat demanded attention. If Hector had to be confined to the cat carrier, he considered the least she could do was keep the vehicle moving.
“In a minute,” she muttered. If cats were supposed to sense one’s mood, Hector was deficient in that ability.
Diane had been similarly concerned to get her moving this afternoon, suggesting Allison leave the office early so she could beat Philadelphia’s rush-hour traffic. Clearly she hadn’t anticipated that Allison would stop by Greg’s loft to say goodbye before setting off for Amish country.
She nearly hadn’t. Hector had been recalcitrant about getting into the cat carrier, wedging his fat orange-striped body under the dresser just out of her reach the instant he’d seen the carrier. She’d finally had to resort to a can of tuna to snag him.
Then, with cat carrier and suitcase stowed in her compact, she’d had, she thought, just enough time to give Greg a goodbye kiss before heading for the wilds of Lancaster County and the property she’d so surprisingly been left in her grandmother’s will.
She’d probably known the truth when she’d spotted Diane’s Volvo parked in front of Greg’s building. Her head just hadn’t been able to convince her heart. She’d had to see for herself.
Well, she’d seen, all right. Now she just had to figure out what she was going to do with her life.
Hector complained again. Loudly.
“All right, all right.” She started the engine and pulled onto the street as cautiously as a sixteen-year-old learning to drive.
At least she had a breathing space before making any tough decisions. She’d already planned to spend a week in Laurel Ridge arranging to rid herself of the white elephant her birth father’s mother had so surprisingly left her. But now she didn’t have any reason to rush back.
Allison joined the steady stream of traffic heading out of the city. There would be other jobs. One thing she could say about Di: her code, whatever it was, might allow her to poach a friend’s man, but she wouldn’t stoop to withhold a glowing reference, even if it meant Allison would be decorating multimillion-dollar homes for one of her competitors.
As for Greg—well, apparently he didn’t live by any code at all except the whim of expediency. Allison must have had blinders on not to see that. Still, it was easy to be dazzled in the early stages of love, or whatever had passed for love between them.
Several hours later, Allison had begun to think she’d also had blinders on when she’d read the map and decided she could reach Laurel Ridge before dark. The April evening had quickly faded, and only the faintest glow on the western horizon remained. She seemed to have been wandering past fields and forests on a two-lane county route for hours, and the sole vehicle she’d passed in miles had been an Amish buggy.
The GPS she relied on was not helpful. Its metallic voice hadn’t contributed anything in the past half hour but a persistent “Recalculating” that was nearly as annoying as Hector’s raucous complaints. When the cat started sounding like a rusty hinge, it meant the situation was getting desperate.
Her tired brain played with the idea that Laurel Ridge didn’t exist, that her legacy was one last spiteful act on the part of the grandmother who’d never acknowledged Allison’s existence while she was alive.
Pondering the possibility, Allison nearly missed the sign. She stopped, backed up and read the words she’d been looking for. Laurel Ridge, 2 Miles. Relief swept over her, and she put the car in gear.
“Cheer up, Hector. The end is in sight.”
A doubtful scratch at the carrier’s door was his only response.
A few minutes later she was driving down Laurel Ridge’s main, and maybe only, business street. Storefronts were dark and foot traffic nonexistent. Apparently Laurel Ridge shut down early. The only sign of life was a café and, across the street, a bed-and-breakfast with a porch light left on. Probably for her, since she’d booked a room there for the week.
As she pulled to the curb, Allison’s gaze was caught by the building next to the bed-and-breakfast. In contrast to the homey Victorian charm of the white clapboard inn, this building loomed over the street, three stories of Italianate classic architecture dwarfing the smaller buildings around it. She could just make out the brass plate attached to the wrought-iron gate. Blackburn House. So this was her inheritance.
An Italianate mansion dating from the 1850s. The attorney’s voice, dry and pedantic, sounded in her mind. It belonged to Laurel Ridge’s founding family. Your late grandfather purchased it from the Blackburn family fifty years ago. He had it zoned commercial and divided to form several shops and offices.
The attorney’s voice had sounded disapproving, either of the property or, more likely, of her.
Allison had mentally translated his description into old and dilapidated, with the architectural integrity of the original house compromised by ill-conceived renovations. But from the outside, at least, the building looked well kept, its paint flawless, small lawn smooth and green, and early spring daffodils in bloom along the front walk. A porch wrapped around the sides of the building, and a round tower anchored each end of the front.
Allison slid out and hauled the cat carrier from the backseat. “There it is, Hector. What do you think of it?”
Hector’s snarl was probably meant to express his displeasure with his confinement, but it echoed her feelings quite well.
At least she ought to be able to realize some profit from the place when she put it on the market. Aside from a few random gifts that had been totally unsuited to either her age or interests, her father hadn’t contributed much but a name and an accumulation of genes to her life. Maybe his mother had decided to make a last gesture toward rectifying his failure with her bequest.
“We may as well have a look. Don’t you think so?” Talking to the cat was becoming a habit. Was that a sign that she’d eventually turn into an old maid with no one in her life but cats? At least Hector didn’t betray her or smash her dreams to bits.
Holding the cat carrier in one hand and fishing for the keys the lawyer had sent her with the other, Allison advanced on the door of Blackburn House.
* * *
NICK WHITING STEPPED OUT into the cool April evening, the lock clicking behind him on the door to the old Blackburn carriage house, now the workshop of Whiting and
Whiting Cabinetry. The only way he’d convinced his father to go home in time for supper was to assure Dad he’d stop back later to check on the shipment of brushed pewter cabinet knobs that had been guaranteed delivery today.
It was important for Nick to be home for supper with Jamie, important to supervise his son’s first-grade homework and to go through the bedtime rituals with him. When you were six, that sort of thing mattered.
Not that Mom or Dad wouldn’t have been happy to take over, but where his son was concerned, Nick didn’t take shortcuts. Jamie might have lost out in the mother department, but he’d always know he could rely on his dad.
So he’d settled Jamie in the twin bed in the room Nick and his brother had shared as kids, tucking him under the tractor quilt that was Jamie’s favorite. And then he’d driven the mile back into town to the shop.
The package had been leaning against the door, probably having arrived soon after they’d left. He stowed it away in the workshop, pleased the supplier had come through. This meant they could finish Mrs. Phelps’s new kitchen cabinets tomorrow, unless she changed her mind yet again. He’d lingered in the shop for a few minutes, looking over the finished cabinets one last time. He liked checking the progress of the work on hand, enjoyed running his palm over the warm maple and the elegant curves of their custom cabinets.
Nick grinned into the dark. He’d seen his dad do the same thing often enough. It must be a Whiting family trait, one that had somehow skipped his brother, Mac. Double-checking the door, Nick headed for his car, thinking about the wedge of cherry pie Mom would have saved for him.
A light from one of the windows of Blackburn House caught his eye as he rounded the corner of the building, and he paused. First floor—it was in the bookstore. Ralph or his clerk must be working late, maybe unpacking a new shipment of books. Even as he thought it, the light switched off. Five steps later the light reappeared, in the quilt shop this time.
He stopped, frowning. Sarah Bitler wasn’t likely to be in her shop at this hour. Sarah was Amish, and she didn’t like driving her buggy along the country roads after dark. Apprehension slid along Nick’s skin like a touch, and he reached into his pocket for his keys.